In a Man's Mind

Front matter

a SIX-SHILLING NOVELS. EFFIE HETHERINGTON. By Robert Buchanan. A WINNING HAZARD. By Mrs Alexander AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. By Joseph Conrad. ALMAYER'S FOLLY. By Joseph Conrad. THE EBBING OF THE TIDE: South Sea Stories. By Louis Becke. THE FIRST FLEET FAMILY. By Louis Becke and Walter Jeffery. PADDY'S WOMAN, and Other Stories. By Humphrey James. CLARA HOPGOOD. By Mark Rutherford. THE TALES OF JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. With Portrait of the Author. THE STICKIT MINISTER, and Some Common Men. By S. R. Crockett. THE LILAC SUNBONNET. By S. R. Crockett. THE RAIDERS. By S. R. Crockett. London: T. FISHER UNWIN. BV JOHN REAY WATSON IL a n fc o n T. FISHER UNWIN PATERNOSTER SQUARE MDCCCXCVI

Chapter I

How each one goes his own course — no two courses alike — towards the one goal ! Destiny driving us, life circling us, death beckoning us ; their one voice ' Onward.' The mysteries of the Present, and the mysteries of the Future ever visible, and even, by a right summation of the Past, only faintly intelligible to the wisest amongst us. But not even to the wisest is it given to know the silent workings on them and within them, not even when and where such event, which in greatest measure weaved them the present, had primary beginning, but only to know where it first took memorable shape and became visible to them, and to definitely date it from there, because it happens to be convenient — and possible. So it was with this concert, open to a Brisbane public on this 1 6th of August 1895. The audience were few — it had been advertised as a concert for lovers of music, though not with a view to any restriction — and they sat there feebly applausive A and conscious of their own failure, and, subsequently, of a further failure — to discover that the concert was any great success.

Down the body of the hall ran a wide passage dividing two close-set groups of chairs, and most of the audience hid among these. Farther down were forms for the appreciative lower class, who would pay a smaller sum for admission, but who, except in the case of two individuals, had not yet arrived. From the last form to the door of the hall was a wide space of floor, free of all encumbrance but a young man, an attentive listener — a lover, but not so much of music as of the lady who was singing. At the entrance stood, in easy attitudes, some incipient larrikins, speaking humorous comments, and worse, to one another. Up the sides of the hall on raised galleries were forms in disorder, unoccupied. Fernery and palm leaves trimmed the stage ; there sat the orchestra in all positions ; empty chairs even there in excess.

The whole thing in its crudeness and very meagre ness gave one a false image of its earnestness, its height of purpose, which soon died within one and gave place for reaction. It was half-past eight, and the concert had com menced and progressed beyond the first apology for a singer's absence. The lady finished her song, ' Love Once Lost is Gone Forever,' and withdrew, followed by some applause, which she took to be sufficient to justify her reappearance to bow an acknowledgment. Arthur Palmer, who had been standing at the side entrance of the hall, crossed over and sat down. He put his hat and stick on the chair beside him, and took up a position of easy freedom, which the shabby look of the concert conveyed to him was permissible. He was a young man, neatly and carefully dressed, looking a young twenty-three, with a firm, fair face, deep-set eyes, a good forehead, and hair a dark shade of brown.

He took small interest in concerts of any kind, his habit being rather to keep away from public entertainments. But this night he had been passing in tired temper, and the wish to be comfortably lazy had taken him inside. He became superficially observant of the people nearest to him, on the sixth row of chairs in front. They were but four, two ladies and two gentlemen, one of whom, a Mr Lang, was known to him ; a delicate, nervous, animated individual, in appearance not very masculine, and, though older than Palmer, exhibiting here the extravagant youthfulness of seventeen. His sharp, thin voice on sibilant words was very audible and offensive. They seemed to be a party in unison, but Palmer had the thought that Lang had come in by himself, and that the other gentleman had brought the two ladies.

It was ever his practice to gather quick conclusions, and to rest obstinately contented with them. He saw Lang turn round exploringly, and knew that he was recognised ; he was beckoned to, yet took no note of it, centring his vision beyond them on the orchestra. Lang turned back again, blushingly conscious of failure, and, as Palmer thought, of presumption superadded, for he took his hat and stick and went and sat down in the chair next to Lang. He was welcomed by a nervous grasp of the hand and smile showing a pleased surprise. ' Have you a programme ? ' Palmer asked, and was about to signify his sense of ease by an affected yawn, when a preparatory cough from Lang sat him im mediately erect. He knew it instinctively as a mannerism ; it told him that Lang had not come in alone, but with the lady next to him, and he wished to introduce her. ' You don't know Miss Stevenson, do you ?

Allow me. Miss Stevenson — Mr Palmer.' Palmer bowed across to the lady, took her hand when she sent it out to him, and said inquiringly, — ' You find this dull ? ' ' Oh, no. We haven't got that far yet.' ' How far have you got ? You can't persuade me you have reached a stage of appreciation.' ' I'm afraid we started from that, ' said Lang. ' Contrary to all established rules of conduct ; where were you born — or even educated ? ' A gentleman came out on the stage to apologise for the absence of a lady singer. ' Oh, bother ! ' said Miss Stevenson ' Didn't he tell you the lady isn't here to bother,' said Palmer. They laughed a slight approbation, and Miss Stevenson leaned back to get a better view of him from behind Mr Lang. She went forward to him again, and said, — ' But that is the second apology to-night.' 8 Two singers away,' he said, and, turning round, he viewed the empty chairs to gather a little effect, 'and most of the audience also.' He looked for their smiling acceptance of his humour, and they gave it ; but for himself, he had no superlative satisfaction in exhibiting such a superficial cleverness.

He was in fear of the reaction which would come to him if they ceased to display their reception. Miss Stevenson wished she had rudeness enough to whisper questions to Mr Lang, but she only pressed his hand significant of her satisfaction and more ; he was responsive to that. They listened to a song from a super-confident male — 'Where Sparrows Build.' ' That is very nice,' said Lang, at the end of the first verse. Palmer answered, identifying Miss Stevenson with himself, ' That is not our opinion.' ' Well, all I can say is, that you haven't much dis crimination between you,' said Lang. He spoke in part sincerity. The idea of being in a minority was hateful to him at all times, but to be told to take up his position there before Miss Stevenson gave voice, was too oppressive. Palmer leaned back in his chair and watched Miss Stevenson.

He saw her look at Lang, contemptuous of such petulance, then she met his eyes, and smiled. He spoke to Lang, but without moving forward. ' Many a true word — I shall not descend to pro verbs. What you mean is, that there isn't the embodi ment of much sitting between us.' Lang was listening to the music, and did not re spond. Miss Stevenson took her handkerchief to smother her sentiments, but Lang turned at the first note of laughter. He looked from one to the other in a quick, impulsive way. Miss Stevenson blushed furiously and tried to look innocent, but laughter broke from her again. ' What did you say ? ' said Lang. ' I wasn't listening.' His brows gathered, and his whole face showed perplexity sitting ill upon him. 'Me?' said Palmer, inflecting his voice to a pretended surprise. ' I scarcely spoke.' ' But you whispered.

What was it ? ' 'Well, I — don't look like that, you make me nervous — I only stopped Miss Stevenson from saying something rude.' Lang smiled at such an adroit answer ' By saying it yourself? ' ' It works out that way.' 'Oh, well, next time don't stop her out of con sideration for me.' ' Exactly ; out of consideration for you don't stop her. Let her say it instead of me.' The next song, the last on the first part of the programme, was ' One Hundred Fathoms Deep.' Palmer sat through it with a pretence of concern which they looked to see him change to mockery. He merely breathed the deeper when it was finished. ' I think we can all agree about this,' he said ; ' it was terrible.' ' It was murdered,' said Miss Stevenson ; and as the depth of her disparagement came back to her, she sat up to her standard of criticism. ' Well, yes, perhaps it was.

In newspaper English, " It was neatly executed," ' said Palmer. ' Let us say it was properly rendered,' said Lang. 1 1 mean, rended — torn to pieces.' He had a superlative content with himself after that effort, and it was heightened by Palmer's almost in voluntary laughter. He turned to Miss Stevenson and whispered to her. Palmer pretended to some interest in the people standing at the side entrance. Lang touched his arm. ' I have to go away for a little while. Miss Steven son would like to stay if possible. Is it asking too much of you to take charge of her ? ' ' I shall be most happy. And you don't wish me to pay you for the privilege ? ' ' Oh, no ; but you can, if you like, think yourself in my debt.' He got up from his chair. ' I shall endeavour to get back in time ; ' and, uniting the two of them, ' You don't mind ? ' ' Really,' said Palmer, looking up at him, ' I don't mind if you don't get back in time.' Lang nodded smilingly to Miss Stevenson, and with a ' Good-bye, then,' went off.

Miss Stevenson looked at Palmer with questioning eyes ; he took the seat next to her. He saw that she was older than he had thought : very charitable people might say twenty-nine, but they would also be masculine. Her features were irregular, the nose showing character, but not beauty ; the mouth mobile, but the lips were drawn ; the eyes dark and powerful, their lashes well defined and even pretty, and under her hat her dark hair curled. Her figure was small and neat, and though she was not good-looking, she gave one a general content, much of which she owed to her dress. Her seniority of age, the absence of good looks, together with an inward guess of her social position, gave Palmer a sense of latitude ; he played near con ventional limits. ' You will find me easy to manage. I am tame enough to eat crumbs out of your hand,' he said.

He knew it as a touch of vulgarity, but if she was a shop girl, as he took her to be, she would be a little used to that, and he thought it a slight condescension, of which he was self-conscious, that he went down to such level. But she was silent for a moment, and did not give his words the archly reproachful reception he expected. In her desire to win his respect, she could not offer any active opposition to such misbehaviour. Even silence itself would be an adverse judgment. She said quietly and, as she hoped, without the repressive tone of conscious injury, — ' I'm afraid I'm not equal to much in that way.' Her utterance was so colourless in contrast with what he had looked for, that he held it carefully before him and cast about for its occasion ; he found a reason to suit him, in this case the right one. ' What I mean,' he said, ' is that I am not often in need of correction, but I expect to get it from you when it is deserved.' She bowed, smiling pleasantly, and was exalted in her own eyes by the vague apology.

She felt within herself a pleasing languor, a surrendering of herself to him — physical relaxation with mental alertness. The interval was soon over ; what small portion of the audience had moved, came back intermittently. The orchestra played an overture. ' A serious affair this,' he said, breathing heavily, ' Now, don't be cynical.' ' No, I am not. Some day you will have the satisfaction — it will be a satisfaction, I hope — of know ing that I am not cynical — that such a definition doesn't cover me.' ' Well, I shall agree with you, then ; it is serious.' ' That's right,' he said with an encouragement of her, and then smiled in the knowledge of having got her to follow him under false pretences. ' Look how seriously the musicians take it. Gives one the idea that it is pretty poor playing.' ' How ? ' she said, bending to him. ' Well, it is poor kind of playing that doesn't yield more enjoyment.' She smiled with lips almost motionless, lines in her face showing harshly ; he liked her little that way. ' But you seem to get a good deal of enjoyment out of it.' ' Enjoyment out of it !

Surely that is impossible when there is none in it.' She laughed ever so slightly. A vague incongruity in his utterance occurred to her, but she did not follow it out of her desire to judge him from an emotional and not a logical basis. ' You do not play, I suppose ? ' ' Never,' he said, giving a weight of voice for emphasis. ' Not even upon words.' He laughed, for he had no defence. He now felt an interest in her ; it had its basis in vanity ; a thought that this was the first time he had put himself open to any return, and she had been clever enough to use it! ' It is easier learned than any other wind instrument.' ' I don't know so much about that.' ' Still, you have my word.' ' Yes,' she said, ' I was forgetting.' They listened to a little girl's playing on the violin of ' Home, Sweet Home ; ' it was not of sovereign excellence, but Palmer did not comment, and she thought the brighter of him for it.

She had her thoughts of her own home and the time when she was a girl, but even there his personality was with her, but in no way transfigured. Then came something further from the orchestra. She watched him sitting pensive ; he looked up and caught her eyes, and was immediately frivolous. ' I admire the conductor,' he said. ' He seems centred in his business.' ' In quick passages he doesn't seem to have a sufficient number of arms, does he ?' ' Still, he makes what he has go round. I think I may say, without fear of your contradiction, that he is marvellously quick — something of a lightning conductor.' ' Oh, be still,' she said ; but such affected disappro bation was most obvious flattery. 'Do you know how much longer this will last?' he said. ' I cannot even guess.' ' Oh, yes, you can. What you mean is, you're afraid you can't guess right.

I think it will last me a long time anyway.' j ' Perhaps they are endeavouring to outlast the audience.' ' Let us go now, and then we won't be last out.' ' I should have thought bare puns were beneath you,' she said, disdainfully. ' They are generally. I take them to be a sign that my intellect is weakening.' ' The strain is too much for you.' He was silent a moment, listening to a song just beginning. ' Not this one.' ' " Ever of Thee." It is a pretty song. Let us listen and be good.' She sat in silence hearing the music. Her own thoughts were tearful and she looked at him wondering what was stirred in him, till the singer left them, applauded. ' Next on the programme,' he said, ' is a cornet solo. Let us be good and listen.' She looked a mild reproach, then smiled at him. ' I don't think I could be other than good ? ' ' That is because you are a woman.' ' Why, are all women never other than good ? ' He intonated some surprise. ' I meant that it is because you are a woman you can think as you said you did.' She turned from him petulantly, then came back less displeased. ' I won't be offended, though you want me to be.' ' Perhaps there is another reason.' She looked good-humouredly threatening. ' There is.

Don't tell me it, or I shall be offended.' ' Listen,' he said — she was misled and looked quickly at the stage — ' to the woman of it.' The music broke forth. She shook her head at him, reproachful of his conduct and he smiled an acknowledgment that he held a small blame of him self. ' There is no sign of Mr Lang yet,' he said presently. ' No,' she answered. ' Something must be keeping him; ' and she looked at him to discover if he had the suspicion that Mr Lang was not coming back. ' Who are the people next to you ? ' ' I will tell you after. Mr Lang introduced me ; they are friends of his.' ' I thought they were friends of yours as well.' She shook her head silently. The conductor came forward and thanked the audience for their attendance and made sufficient apology for the deficiencies of the concert.

There was a further song on the programme, and after that the orchestra struck up the National Anthem. Palmer and his companion rose. 'I don't think they have finished yet, but there seems to be a chance of getting away. Other people are risking it. Do you feel brave ? ' he said. ' Naturally, with you.' 'Yes, I noticed that you were brave with me. Not unnaturally brave, perhaps, but still very brave.' He smiled at her set face. ' I am very brave to talk like this, but what would be the true name for me if I really meant it ? ' ' And don't you mean it ? ' she said, with some emphasis. ' How can you ask ? ' ' Because I want to know. Don't you mean it ? ' ' No.' He drawled the negative, making it richly repudiative. She put on her cloak and they went to the door together. There was no crush, but there was very little hurrying.

The audience in part stopped to talk with itself and threw various information back at itself even as it was going out. They got outside the hall into the street, the discord of voices around them. ' Which way do we go ? ' he said. ' I live over on Kangaroo Point.' ' The ferry, or a 'bus ? ' ' The ferry is quicker.' And she was glad that it was so, for she wanted his company — how deeply she was just beginning to know — and not to have him show her into a 'bus and leave her. 'You want to get rid of me,' he said ; ' but was it kind to show it ? ' ' You misconstrue everything that is said. It is not fair to do it with me. Besides, you have now only yourself to enjoy it, and that would be selfish.' ' I am humbled, but not very much.' They walked quickly to escape the intrusive clatter of tongues around them, but a little ahead there was a noisy party of four, three of them no-longer young ladies, and a gentleman.

As the far side lady had a word to say, she ran forward a little and dropped it back on the others. She was the wit of the party, and their laughter was noisy and frequent. ' You think these people in front were at the concert,' he said, ' but you are altogether in error.' ' How can you tell ? ' ' Instinct. They have been to a church sale of gifts, and he has been imposed upon, as is usual.' ' Their voices are certainly not at concert pitch,' she said, sweetly. ' But nothing extravagant for concert-audience pitch.' ' No ; yet he seems very happy.' ' It takes a lot and very little to make him so.' ' I believe you are jealous of him.' ' You can't believe that.' The air came to them with the freshness of recent rains. Clouds, tinted grey, travelled aimless in the sky. The moon shadowed and shone ; the pavement echoed beneath their feet ; closed shops spoke to them re proachful of the night. ' We shall not see Mr Lang again,' he said. ' Not to-night, I'm afraid.' ' I may not see him for some time.

Tell him I wish to — congratulate him.' ' On what ? ' she said nervously. ' He will know.' ' But I would like to, as well.' ' And don't you ? ' he said, with an emphasis. She roused herself, revealing a sense of injury in her voice. She could see that he was drifting from her, that he definitely counted on never seeing her again. ' Perhaps I do know what you mean. You are like all the rest. No girl can have a gentleman friend. Sex is intruded on them by everyone. A girl has designs on. every masculine acquaintance.' Her extravagance, echoing back upon her, frightened her a little. Palmer smiled at the crudeness of the outburst. Feeling a superiority to the attack, he would not put himself on apologetic grounds. ' So I meant to insult you. Saying so little, I meant so much, and yet I would have credited you with having already dis covered that it is more my habit to say much and mean little.' She came to him laughingly — a little hysterical. 'And it is my habit to be a little mean.

I forgive you, but it is dependent on you if I can forgive myself. But don't you really think it a shame that a woman can't have a gentleman friend ? ' He was willing to meet her there seriously. ' It is a fact that one can't. But the reason is near at hand — there has never been any demand for them. If you begin the practice, you must hold to the penalty — the wise comments of ignorance. On the whole, I think one ought to be proud to be martyred in such a high cause, having for its end the betterment of the relations between young men and women.' ' I so much want you to be serious that I can't take in your humorous view of it. I know you are quizzing me, and it is not fair.' ' I am not quizzing you. Perhaps I spoke a little immoderately, but I am not wholly insincere.' He was occupied with a thought of the loneliness of his own life and the issue on it a friendship with this girl would have.

In the novelty and uncertainty of it lay its advocacy. And once decided, he wondered why there should be an echoing eagerness in him. He felt that she wished to have him as a friend ; her words had quite persuaded him of that. But, vain as he knew himself to be, he was sure that vanity could not lead him. The recklessness of submitting himself to one socially inferior and so much older had the touch of originality. ' For myself,' he continued, ' I would be willing — more than willing — to sacrifice myself,' and with a smile, ' for the sake of the advantages. Shall you and I begin the experiment, and be a warning or a guidance to others ? ' He looked down at her feelingly. ' Are you afraid ? ' ' You and I — ' Her tongue clogged with words. Here was the enthronement of her own desire, given her suddenly while she had been occupied with a view of the hopelessness of attainment, and the contemplation of it dazzled her eyes to tears and hushed her voice. ' Do you mean it ?

Yes, of course you do ; forgive me. I know you do. Friends, you and I — ' She looked up at him helplessly. ' How big you are.' Her voice sank from her. He saw her struggle with words, and helped her in his own way. ' I only ask it ' — he imprisoned her hand for a bold effort — ' I only ask it of you ; I can do no more.' ' If we can be friends,' she said, partly free of her emotion. ' How much the word holds ! I should so much like to try, but I am almost afraid to with you - — for reasons.' She looked up submissive to the im prisonment of her hand, and smiling. ' How tall you are. I never noticed it till just now.' ' Rise a little in your own estimation, then we can be on equality. I am determined to be on good behaviour so as never to sink again in yours. We are friends ? ' He was here apologising again for his earlier rudeness, and she became captive to an admiration of his manliness of temper. ' On trial till you get dissatisfied.

I wonder how long ? ' ' You have committed yourself — perhaps for ever Are you sorry ? ' ' No, I am not.' ' Then I am glad. But I suppose you have lots of friends ? ' ' No, indeed.' Her heart beat the happier to see him jealous. ' I haven't even many acquaintances ; ' she hung her head, and added softly, 'and only one friend.' ' Me ? ' he said, revealing happiness in his voice. ' Yes ; you know.' He was surprised to see how dear she had grown to him and the depth of his content in knowing he had her to himself. To defend his quick appreciation of her he had to think of her as something very honest among women, and under that felt himself free to ask about Lang. She had repudiated the conception of him as a lover, and denied that he was a friend. ' I suppose you have known Mr Lang a long time ? ' She was glad of the question, for it enabled her to approach a complete justification of what she had said. ' I have known some relations of his, but I have not known him long.

We both work in the same shop — Downey's. I suppose you know it. That is partly how I happened to be at the concert with him.' He was the better pleased to know that she had no great interest in Lang. He himself knew Lang well, and, because of that knowledge, he was glad she did not come to him in the guise of his friend — a poor attitude for anyone to occupy. ' I have no friends either,' he said ; ' my life has always been lonely — purposely so. I have always been unsociable ; even at school I had no friends, and — I should have warned you.' ' It would have been useless,' she said. His laughter rang clear with a joyous note in it. He admitted to himself that he had been hurried into his present position by his emotion, and yet he was certain that to-morrow would not bring repentance. He was a young man of supreme self-certainty, to whom repentance was hateful — and infrequent.

Socially the girl was beneath him. She was a shop girl, but she must have some intellectual qualities to have attracted him so far. Friendly intercourse with her would be a new experience and worth something B to him. The whole conditions were so favourable ; she herself would have the clearest knowledge of their relations. Her age would be her own safeguard and his. Of course idle tongues would talk — and subside. She was touched by his charm of manner and voice ; his tones thrilled her — his words exalted her. She felt herself yielding to him in love. One thing was most present to her — that sleep that night would be far from her, perhaps unwelcome, for in its stead would be an oxymel reign of the emotions. They came to the ferry shed and waited. There were other people sitting there, mindful of their own concerns and the approaching boat. ' Where do you live ? ' she said. 'Down the Valley.' ' You have a far way to go, then.